


Exposure Therapy for Fears and Phobias

by KatD



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, Mostly Dialogue, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatD/pseuds/KatD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five People Stiles Doesn’t Want to Talk to Today (and One He Does)</p><p>My submission to the 2012 MTV Teen Wolf Fanfiction Contest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposure Therapy for Fears and Phobias

“—writings during the Renaissance called them obscene and shameful, but they featured prominently even respectable portraits.”

 

“I never realized there was so much to cod-pieces,” said Ms. Morrell into her small, spare office.

 

“It’s an underappreciated history and penis adornments are—”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“That’s my name.”

 

“I think you’re smart enough to realize I know we haven’t discussed anything relevant to your life,” Ms. Morrell said as she rested her cheekbone against her loose fist.

 

“Oh come on! We totally talked about my dad,” Stiles replied and leaned back in his chair dramatically.

 

“Which you turned into a conversation about clinical trials on the anti-oxidant properties of goji berries.”

 

“I talked about Lydia and Jackson getting back together!”

 

“You redirected the conversation to cod-pieces.”

 

“I’m expanding on lived experiences in ways relevant to my research interests!”

 

“You’re evading.”

 

“I talked about the lacrosse championship! I gave details and everything,” Stiles said.

 

Ms. Morrell sighed.

 

“And you conveniently skipped the trauma to focus exclusively on your triumphs.”

 

“Yeah, well I always look on the bright side of life. It’s a good motto, comes with a theme song and everything. Things have been good. Besides, Jackson was revived at the hospital. No tragedy, no trauma. He’s back to making my life unpleasant by his very existence.”

 

“Is that how you see him?”

 

“Geez! Just because the girl I lo- like is in like with someone else doesn’t mean that I hate the guy! Much,” Stiles smiled, but it only reached one side of his mouth and skipped his eyes entirely.

 

Ms. Morrell arched a wry brow.

 

“Okay, so yeah, some days I wish I could let this whole crush thing go, then I realize that all these bits in my brain are filled with her and connected to other things, people, whatever that connect to even more and then I start to figure letting go means erasing so much of me.”

 

“Are you scared of letting go?”

 

“Pffft. Who has time to be scared? I’ve got exams and off-season practices and endless study-dates so my best friend doesn’t end up repeating sophomore year and a dad who would exist on fried food and red meat if I didn’t make him eat salad.”

 

“You seemed pretty scared when we talked last week.”

 

“And now things are better. If that’s too hard to believe you must have figured out that I’m actually a pod-person.”

 

“Do realize I have to take notes on all pod people delusions.”

 

“Oh my god, I’m joking! That’s what I do!”

 

“Yes, Stiles. That is what you do. You joke, even when you’re serious.”

 

“Umm.”

 

“You know what I think?”

 

“I think you’re gonna tell me.”

 

“I think that you try really hard to keep others from recognizing your feelings because you don’t want to acknowledge them yourself, but what you’re really waiting for is someone who will listen and not get annoyed or distracted or amused for long enough that you are forced to confront how they really make you feel.”

 

Stiles didn’t meet Ms. Morrell’s eyes for a long moment.

 

“Well you’re good at motivational speeches.”

 

“I’m good at a lot of things,” She replied. Stiles eyebrows shot up.

 

“Why Ms. Morrell, I thought Beacon Hills didn’t need any more cougars?”

 

The bell interrupted her comeback.

 

“And on that insanely awkward note, later!” Stiles said, grabbing his backpack as he made for the door.

 

“One more thing,” Ms. Morrell said, prompting Stiles to spin around, “you have homework.”

 

“Do you want me to journal my feelings? Write lyrics to heartfelt ballads?”

 

“I want you to talk to your dad,” she replied, “I want you to tell him something that scares you.”

 

“I already told you Ms. Morrell, I’m not scared,” Stiles said and closed the door behind him.

 

And if he heard a vaguely threatening “you probably should be” just as the latch caught, well, he probably just imagined it anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jackson needs to talk to Scott,” Lydia announced out of nowhere as she leaned against the locker next to Stiles, tilting her head to expose the long, pale line of her neck.

 

“Hi, Lydia,” Stiles replied glibly. “It’s nice to see you. How have you been? I hope nothing traumatically life altering has happened lately.” He moved some books from his locker to his bag and slammed the metal door.

 

“Cute, Stiles.”

 

“Good to see you’re finally coming around to my charming sense of humor.”

 

“You said something funny? Hmm, must have missed it.”

 

Stiles inhaled, paused, then let is breath out in a rush.

 

“What do you want, Lydia.”

 

“World peace, my name published on a paper solving the Hadwiger conjecture, and perpetual half-off shoe sales, but I’ll settle for Scott and Jackson communicating basic territory agreements before their monthly problem. Jackson isn’t getting anywhere near Derek while Peter Hale still lives and breathes so that starts to complicate things.”

 

“And what makes that our responsibility?”

 

Lydia’s face served as her counterargument.

 

“Okay, fair point,” Stiles conceded, “But why don’t you talk to Scott yourself. I mean, he’s not mad at you or anything.”

 

“Jackson is currently a little freaked and gets creepy-jealous when I even mention Scott. Smelling like Scott would not end well for him.”

 

“For Jackson?”

 

“Jackson was Beacon Hill’s best lacrosse player before his furry problem. Scott couldn’t run a field length without wheezing.”

 

“As much as I’d like to defend my best friend’s reputation you are not incorrect,” Stiles granted. “Wait. What about me?”

 

“I don’t think your reputation has a defense.”

 

“Do I have to worry that Jackson will maul me in my sleep because you’re standing to close?”

 

“Of course not,” Lydia said, “Jackson would have to believe you were significant enough to threaten our relationship.”

 

“Wow, ouch. So clearly you haven’t forgiven me for trying to protect you.” Lydia’s gaze turned icy.

 

“Look, wasn’t going to bring it up but clearly you are unable to let it drop. Between Jackson and Allison I’ve worked out a lot of what’s been happening and I need you to realize that as much as everyone thought they were protecting me from scary things that go bump in the night you were hiding information from me.”

 

“Lydia-”

 

“Don’t you dare, Stiles. The others, they forget sometimes, but you know better than anyone what it means that you kept information from me. My mind is the only defense I have and I spent weeks thinking I was loosing it.”

 

Lydia stopped as her eyes caught on Scott down the hallway.

 

“Stop looking like I’ve kicked a puppy,” she continued. “I don’t actually hate you and we’ll talk later. For now, just give Scott the message. I’ll see you around.” She turned and walked off just as Scott clapped a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

 

“Dude, what did Lydia want?”

 

“Uh, she needs my help. A school thing.”

 

“Lydia needs you?” Scott asked.

 

“Yeah, I think she’s finally realizing that my brains will produce genetically superior offspring once she comes to her senses and drops Jackson so we can get married.”

 

Scott slapped Stiles shoulder, never fully compensating for his strength.

 

“Sounds good, man,” said Scott as two of them started down the hall.

 

“And Lydia wants you and Jackson to talk about dividing up the town before the full moon.”

 

“What? Why?” Scott asked in genuine confusion.

 

“Well, apparently Jackson is being a territorial nightmare, which he was before, but now he’s a werewolf. I know you lack both self-preservation and territorial instincts, but with you and Jackson and Derek, his misfit chew toys and creepy uncle and some bizarre Alpha pack skulking about Beacon Hills—let’s just say I’m hoping to get through the rest of the school year without adding to the body count, because—”

 

“Hey, chill Stiles,” Scott interrupted, “things have calmed down.”

 

“Did you miss the bit about the big bad wolves huffing and puffing at the door? Or old-man-Argent’s suspiciously missing corpse? Or that fact that just two weeks ago a third of the local law enforcement was murdered?”

 

“I haven’t forgotten, Stiles. I’m just moving on.”

 

“Yeah well, you can move a lot faster than I can.”

 

“Oh hey speaking of moving, I forgot to tell you I promised Isaac we would get in some lacrosse in today. So maybe we can put off studying for Chemistry until the weekend?”

 

“You know Derek isn’t going to like you stealing his puppy.”

 

“Hey if it weren’t for Isaac we wouldn’t even know about the Alpha pack and it’s not like Isaac belongs to him.”

 

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s kinda how this werewolf thing works.” Scott frowned.

 

“But, yeah, we can do Chemistry this weekend,” Stiles continued

 

“Thanks, man! Could you do me a favor?”

 

“Why not, because I apparently live to serve.” Scott unzipped his bag.

 

“Give this back to Allison?” he asked and handed Stiles a thin paperback.

 

“You voluntarily read a book?” Scott shrugged.

 

“It’s one of Allison’s favorites.”

 

“And you can’t bring it back yourself?” Stiles called as Scott backed away.

 

“I’m giving her some space.”

 

“You’re avoiding her dad!”

 

“I’ve gotta go meet Issac!”

 

“You know my Jeep is in the shop!” Stiles shouted across the swarm of students heading home.

 

“Thanks Stiles!”

 

Stiles ran a hand through his hair as he muttered “dammit” to no one in particular.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles leaned his bike against the hedge outside the Argent’s front door and took a deep breath before knocking. It was too a brief moment before Chris Argent opened the door.

 

“Uh, hi there Mr. Argent.”

 

“Stiles. Can I help you?”

 

“Actually, I came to see Allison. Not that it isn’t pretty obvious, because why would I be here to see you.”

 

“I’m afraid Allison isn’t up to seeing anyone. I can pass along a message.”

 

Stiles wrestled with his backpack zipper, pulled out the paperback, and handed it over.

 

“I just needed to give her this.”

 

“This is one of Allison’s favorites.”

 

“So I’ve heard.”

 

“Scott asked you to bring this back?”

 

“Asked is a strong word.”

 

Chris frowned.

 

“Would you like to come inside?”

 

“Absolute n—I mean we don’t really have the sort of relationship where I drop in for a chat. Not that I’m avoiding you like I have something to hide. Because I don’t.”

 

“Come inside, Stiles.”

 

“I’d love too.”

 

Stiles followed Chris into the kitchen, his arms firmly at his sides, eyes darting.

 

“Do you want something to drink?”

 

“Um, uh— ”

 

“Soda?”

 

“No thanks, caffeine makes me nervous and twitchy. Well, more than usual, but the caffeine thing might be an interaction with—”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Water, please.”

 

Chris Argent reached into a high cabinet to grab two glasses.

 

“Still or sparkling?”

 

“Uh, still?”

 

Chris pulled a liter bottle from the fridge and filled the glasses on the counter. Stiles licked his lips and shifted as Chris slid the glass across the granite. He took a polite drink.

 

“I want to be honest with you, Stiles.”

 

“That would be refreshing because recent Hunter actions suggest that honesty, not your forte.”

 

“I deserve that,” Chris replied, “but I’m not wrong when I say you’re in over your head.”

 

“That’s not your call.”

 

“Take it from the voice of experience. You’re not prepared and you should walk away.”

 

“Not gonna happen.”

 

“I don’t expect to change your mind overnight, but if you need to get out we will help you.”

 

“Oh my god, I’m not some battered spouse!”

 

“But you are human and that means something to me.”

 

“Does that count as racism? Cause it sounds racist to me.”

 

“I can’t pretend I’m not biased, but really think about it. You’ve suffered a lot for your alliances.”

 

“Look, Mr. Argent. I know you probably won’t believe me, but besides Scott, who has been my best friend for years, I am turning over a new leaf. A leaf where I have nothing to do with werewolves.”

 

* * *

 

 

 “Get in,” was all Derek said as he pulled up next to Stiles in his Camero on the deserted Beacon Hills residential street.

 

“The universe hates me and wants me suffering,” Stiles muttered to himself and continued to bike, forcing Derek to roll slowly to keep up.

 

“Stiles!”

 

“I’m good with biking! Thanks for the offer.”

 

“Stiles. In the car.”

 

“I’ve started an anti-kidnapping policy and this is me, not getting kidnapped.”

 

Derek sped forward and pulled gently into the curb, cutting Stiles off. He leaned over the seat and opened the back door from the inside.

 

“Put your bike in the back. We need to talk about Scott.”

 

Stiles grunted in frustration and tossed his bike into the car, unconcerned by dirty upholstery.

 

“I hate you so much right now,” said Stiles as he slammed the passenger door. Derek let out an amused huff.

 

“You don’t even hate me a little.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

 

“You need me.”

 

“That totally doesn’t prohibit the hating.”

 

Derek maneuvered his car back into the road in silence.

 

“Now that you’ve kidnapped me are you going to talk or just brood as you give me a ride home?”

 

“Just ask me what you want to know.”

 

“How do we keep the Alpha pack from murdering Scott?”

 

“He joins my pack.”

 

“Besides that.”

 

“Not sure that’s possible,” Derek growled.

 

“Assume it’s possible.”

 

“I know how to buy us some time,” Derek finally said.

 

“Fan-frickn-tastic. Care to let me in on the plan?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh that is bull! Scott might operate under the philosophy that ignorance is bliss. I assume ignorance will get me eaten by werewolves. So spill.”

 

After a moments pause Derek replied, “The Alphas will hold off until they understand the pack structure. Jackson and Scott may be Omegas, but with control they act like Betas. Isaac is clearly pack and he’s been spending time with Scott. Jackson still has contact with Isaac and Scott in school and Lydia—complicates things.”

 

“So you’re saying we have the advantage because werewolves can’t understand teenagers?”

 

“Some bitten packs have looser bonds, but we have a wildcard.”

 

“The Argents.”

 

Derek nodded. “Allison and Scott might not be dating but she doesn’t avoid anyone in school and she and Lydia are getting closer—”

 

“But you don’t think that’s enough.”

 

“No.”

 

Stiles sat quietly, thinking.

 

“I can get Chris Argent to teach me about werewolves.”

 

“Are you crazy?”

 

“Crazy like a fox. He feels guilty as hell and would love to stage some anti-werewolf intervention. So he lets me into his home, I report back to you, get buddy-buddy with Lydia and still spend time with Scott and to outsiders it looks like Beacon Hills is some bizarro-world where werewolves and hunters live in happy commune.”

 

“It’s stupid and dangerous.”

 

“It’s a genius plan! Your uncle would agree with me.”

 

“I don’t trust Peter.”

 

“Derek Hale, ladies and gentlemen, more than a pretty face.”

 

Derek hit the breaks harder than necessary as he pulled into the Stilinski’s driveway.

 

“Get out of my car, Stiles. And don’t you even think about going to the Argents.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles threw his bag at the bottom of the stairs as he dashed to the kitchen. He grabbed the milk and took a quick swig before his eyes darted to the dinning room.

 

“Hey, Dad—” Stiles paused and took in the piles of paper spread across the dinning room table. “You’re home early.”

 

“I’m going through applications for transfers and new hires for the department. Being at home felt like a good idea. I’ve got a frozen lasagna in the oven for dinner.”

 

“Vegetable lasagna?”

 

“Yes, Stiles. I’ll even let you make a salad.”

 

“Good.” Stiles put the milk back in the fridge and pulled up a dinning room chair.

 

“So are there any exceptional candidates? Ex-marines or FBI agents?”

 

“Just good people, looking for work.”

 

“Special skills in wilderness survival or proficiency in Medieval French?”

 

“What?”

 

“Just curious.”

 

“No, not—” he stopped and threw a stack of applications down. “Damnit, Stiles!”

 

Stiles froze, waiting. But explanations were not forthcoming.

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Dad. You were suspended.”

 

“Responsibility can’t be switched off. I can’t look at these anymore.”

 

Stiles watched his dad walk to the liquor cabinet and pull out a bottle and glass.

 

“Bit early isn’t it?”

 

“Are you the adult here?”

 

“Sorry, but someone has to be,” Stiles replied, and then continued with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Dad. So sorry you have no idea.”

 

“Stiles?”

 

“Sorry, I just—I don’t.”

 

“Stiles, talk to me. You can always talk to me.”

 

“No, Dad, I can’t. There’s just—I should have known about Matt. Told you, I don’t know, something.”

 

“Do we need to have another talk about how I’m you dad first and Sheriff second?”

 

“You’re both at the same time! I can’t force you to put your job on the line. Again.”

 

“Son, are you in trouble? Because I—”

 

“Not me, or just me—it’s not my story to tell, Dad. I know you’ll look out for me but I can’t ask that you extend that to others.”

 

“Is it Scott?”

 

Stiles didn’t look up and was quiet for too long to answer comfortably.

 

“Did you know that there’s no recognized phobia of being underground?” Stiles said.

 

“What does th—”

 

“There’s taphophobia, which is the fear of being buried alive, but that has more to do with coffins and being mistaken for dead. But what about caves and tunnels or underground parking ramps? All that impossible weight pushing down, waiting for a collapse.”

 

“Stiles—”

 

“Upogeiophobia. The fear of being under the earth. I’m thinking making a page on Wikipedia might be the first step in getting it recognized.”

 

“That—sounds like a start.”

 

“I’ll get on that. Call me down when the lasagna comes out, yeah?”

 

“Sure thing, Stiles.”

 

Stiles made his way to the stairs, grabbed his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. He called back to the dining room.

 

“Don’t drink too much, Dad.”

 

“Don’t think too much, son.”


End file.
